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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713363">A Much Needed Respite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supurbangothic/pseuds/supurbangothic'>supurbangothic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thrilling Intent (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And also he and Markus are ridiculously in love because I say so, Asexual Gregor Hartway, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Honestly this is just me letting Gregor address some of his trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Let Gregor Cry 2020, M/M, Pining, SPOILERS EP 358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:35:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supurbangothic/pseuds/supurbangothic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s expecting deflection. Downplaying. Reassurances that it was fine, Gregor’s fine, really! Markus has counters to what he expects, ways to get through to the other man and let him know it’s okay not to be sunny-happy Gregor all the time. What he gets is not at all what he expects, and all his contingency plans go right out the window."</p>
<p>Gregor finally gets some things he sorely needs, and a few things he dearly wants. Notably a good cry, a warm bed, and a damn hug. Feat. Markus being ridiculously soft for his friends, Mercedes' amazing parenting, and a good helping of romance because I am a sap.</p>
<p>(Sequel to https://archiveofourown.org/works/25548040 , can be read as stand-alone)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gregor Hartway/Markus Velafi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Much Needed Respite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After dinner their small party retires to a spacious sitting room with their hosts. With the twins present, the conversation is light. Jovial. Harlock engages Faria about some sort of theoretical alchemy research that Markus at first attempts to listen to, until it becomes starkly apparent that the concepts up for discussion are <em> far </em>above his rudimentary understanding. Instead, he sits sandwiched between Gregor and Inien on a ridiculously comfortable couch, content to listen to Gregor’s recounting of some of their tamer adventures to Mel and Mal. Every now and then, when the story reaches a noticeable empty space where Ashe would be and Gregor pauses, Markus jumps in to pick up the tale until the former Outrider is able to continue.</p>
<p>Markus is confident that Ashe and Firi know what they’re doing, that they have some reason for their disappearing act; and he knows in his heart that he’ll see them again. Still, he feels Ashe’s absence just as acutely as Gregor. There are times when he’ll pause after a particularly ridiculous comment, expecting the familiar reprimand or groan. He’d even take a good, solid smack. When it doesn’t come, it feels like the gap between him and wherever their beloved neck-stabber is widens even further.</p>
<p>But Markus Velafi has never been a man that dwells in the past, and so he sets his sights on the days ahead. After all, he has Gregor at his side. While he knows that both of them feel the missing side of their triad like a phantom limb, they do not have to feel it alone.</p>
<p>Guilt curls uncomfortably in his gut at the tangential reminder that Gregor <em> had </em>been alone, for those two weeks that to Markus had felt like one adrenaline-fuelled day. According to Harlock, the brunette had barely slept on the trip to Tannhauser; only surrendering to his exhaustion for a scant few minutes at a time before snapping himself awake and resuming his manic search for Markus. Markus will admit that having near-constant company for the last five years has made him reluctant to be alone, but he can cope with it if he must. But Gregor, Gregor who has lost his entire family in one terrible instance not once, but twice? The thought of leaving him alone, unsure of whether Markus and Ashe were dead or alive? It’s enough to make Markus wish he’d never stepped through that rift, fate of the world be damned. Except “the world” almost certainly includes Gregor, Ashe, Thog, and all the rest of their strange growing family. So instead the guilt eats away at him, makes him hover by Gregor’s side more than usual.</p>
<p>Gregor, to his credit, doesn’t seem to mind or even notice. He just presses happily against Markus’ side on the couch, feet tucked under him and glaive leaning point-down near where his arm rests.The twins’ eyes are shining, and Gregor’s are shining back as he tells the tale of the time he, Markus, Ashe, and Kyr managed to beat up the God of Death so bad he became a baby.</p>
<p>“And now he lives with us!” Gregor says. Gone are the days when Charoth’s presence was something for the monster hunter to be wary of. Markus smiles with something like pride.</p>
<p>Eventually the conversation reaches a natural lull and the twins begin yawning, though they try to hide it. It’s then that Mercy declares it their bedtime. Despite their protests, the twins follow their mother upstairs willingly enough, likely more excited by the thought of their mom being home to tuck them in more than they could be about any strange visitors. Markus knows <em> he </em> would have been, those rare times his father was present and patient enough to do so. The odd parallel in relationships that are so obviously different in tone strikes a chord in him. Though he’d already been intending to, he swears to himself then and there that he’ll end this strange war his birth country has fallen into, so that Melody and Mallory can soon see the day when their mom is there to tuck them in <em> every </em>night.</p>
<p>They all turn in shortly after the girls are put to bed, Faria showing them each to one of the many, many guest rooms upstairs. Markus nearly wants to weep at the sight of the plush double bed in his room. When was the last time he’d slept in an honest-to-gods bed? In a manner Ashe would call childish if she were there, he launches himself, arms outstretched onto the mattress, rolling around and luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets and proper back support. He ends up on his back and sighs in contentment, lying there for a moment before sitting up to remove his boots and cloak. Though he’d slept the night before, his exhaustion seems to hit him all at once, weighing down his eyelids. Markus wants nothing more than to get under the sheets and fall into a real sleep for the first time in ages, but he can’t. Not quite yet. He’s waiting on something.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to wait for very long. Not ten minutes later, a solid knock sounds at the bedroom door. Markus smiles to himself as he gets up to answer. After five years of near-constant company, you get to know someone’s habits.</p>
<p>Sure enough, when he opens the door Gregor is standing in the hall, still fully dressed and leaning on his glaive. Markus steps to the side wordlessly, allowing his closest friend through the doorway. Then he closes the door softly behind him. When he turns back to the room, Gregor is propping his glaive against the wall with the care usually afforded newborns, instead of a deadly god-killing weapon. Once the glaive is properly situated, Gregor’s attention turns to methodically removing his breastplate and shoulder guards. Markus leaves the man to his ritual and goes to the washbasin in the corner. With a piece of cloth and a soap cake he scrubs the grime from his face and neck, grimacing at the nearly-black water when he’s finished. He snaps his fingers and the water disappears, so he pours more from a large pitcher near the basin and strips off his filthy shirt to wash his arms and torso.</p>
<p>Hygiene isn’t exactly easy to maintain with the life he leads, but he’s always made an effort. Ashe and Thog used to make fun of him when he’d go off to find a spring or stream during a brief night’s respite between battles, especially during their time in Onhorant. What was the point, Ashe would ask, in cleaning off the remnants of today’s fighting when tomorrow would just be more of the same? Better to spend the time resting, so an errant (or well-placed) knife wouldn’t catch him drowsy and unaware. Markus can understand that way of thinking, might even agree, but some lessons are harder to unlearn than others.</p>
<p>“We are the servants of kings,” he can hear his father’s voice droning in his mind, “and we must comport ourselves as such. If we look and smell like vagrants, it will reflect poorly on the royal household.” Well, Markus couldn’t be damned to care about royalty, but he does prefer to stay at least somewhat presentable.</p>
<p>By the time he’s done, Gregor has stripped out of his similarly soiled tunic (though the red does well to hide the bloodstains) and has set to cleaning his glaive and armor. Markus has always found the process fascinating, the efficiency with which Gregor works relaxing in a way that’s nearly trance-inducing. He sits on the bed, legs crossed, to watch in companionable silence. If Gregor is bothered, he doesn’t show it. Besides, if it did bother him, Markus thinks he’d have mentioned it the countless other times the tiefling has watched him clean his armor. He hasn’t.</p>
<p>Though the way Gregor’s hands scrub and oil the well-worn leather is mesmerizing, more often than not Markus finds his gaze drifting to observe Gregor in his entirety. Once upon a time, the sight of Gregor without his tunic had evoked envy. Years and years of training that most would call extreme if not <em> insane </em>has made Gregor well-muscled and deceptively lean.  Past Markus couldn’t help but compare it to his own willowy, frail frame. But that was years ago. Now, all Markus feels is admiration for his companion, for the discipline and effort Gregor exerts in in making sure his body serves to the best of his ability. The Outrider brand is something that had startled Markus, at first. When all he knew of Gregor was a cheerful disposition and a tendency towards impulse decisions that, back then, Markus had mistaken for stupidity. Those days are long since past, but he finds himself chiding the younger man he used to be. Gregor Hartway is a great many things, but an idiot is not among them.</p>
<p>“Markus?” He blinks, eyes refocusing, and realizes that Gregor had finished his maintenance while Markus was staring at what was decidedly <em> not </em>his hands. He’s taken his hair down, brown locks spilling unbound down his back and shoulders. Markus is struck with the urge to run his fingers through it. He attributes it to sleep deprivation. If the heat he feels in his face is visible, Gregor doesn’t acknowledge it.</p>
<p>“Hm? Sorry bud, I’m a bit tired. Did you say something?”</p>
<p>“Do you think Mercy will mind if I use her backyard to train in the morning?” And isn’t that just like Gregor; given time to rest and thinking only of the next fight, of the preparation to be done in the meantime. Markus can’t help his fond smile.</p>
<p>“I don’t think she’d mind at all. She might even join you, if you ask.”</p>
<p>“Hm, maybe. If she’s awake when I get up. She’s letting us stay here a while, I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping.” Gregor has his Thinking Face on, brow furrowed slightly and hand cupping his chin. Privately, Markus thinks it’s extremely endearing.</p>
<p>“Good point. She seems like a morning person, though.” Markus’ words are punctuated with a large yawn. He’s reminded at once of his exhaustion, and the siren song of the bed he’s sitting on grows stronger. “Should we turn in? Even you won’t be up early if we don’t get some rest.”</p>
<p>This is patently untrue. Gregor wakes with the sun no matter how much sleep he’s gotten. It’s one of the many reasons Markus sometimes thinks Gregor <em> can’t </em>be fully human. Even so, the warrior doesn’t call his bluff. He’s still wearing the Thinking Face, though. The hand has dropped from his chin and he’s searching Markus’ face with what looks to be nerves, but that can’t be right.</p>
<p>“Right, yeah. Bed.” Okay, something is definitely off.</p>
<p>“A real bed, huh? Isn’t too often we get the luxury.” Markus says instead of prying. No one, not even Harlock, can get Gregor to open up by force or coercion. If something is wrong that he feels like talking about, or thinks is important, he’ll talk. He’s never been one to be self-conscious.</p>
<p>“Maybe we can ask Thog to get some at home,” he says, and Markus sees it for the joke it is and laughs. Truth be told, Thog and Inien often complain that their sleeping habits are “weird as hell,” but to Markus it’s always seemed like a waste to put beds in the bar since they’re so seldom home.</p>
<p>“Hey, um...Markus?”</p>
<p>“What’s up, bud?” Markus knows the signs of what Inien had once jokingly called a “sleepover talk,” one of the rare moments of utterly candid conversation between a group of people that seems to speak exclusively in sarcasm, jokes, and deflection. He pats the mattress next to him in an invitation to sit. Gregor doesn’t. It isn’t really a surprise, and Markus easily represses the wounded twinge in his chest.</p>
<p>“I have something I want to tell you,” Gregor says it like he wants to do anything <em> but </em> , hand lifting to tug nervously at the ends of his hair. His eyes won’t settle on Markus’ face, and the rest of his words come out in a rush that Markus only understands by virtue of fluency in Gregor-speak, “and I wanted to tell you after we left Freearch but then everything happened with the rift and the thinking you were dead; and then knowing you <em> weren’t </em>dead but you still weren’t there and I-”</p>
<p>“Woah, woah! Gregor, bud, slow down. Come sit with me? Please?” Gregor sits down with an out-of-breath huff and Markus repositions his body so he’s facing the man entirely. “I’m sorry for what happened in Freearch. I knew closing the rift from the other side was dangerous and reckless when I did it, but we were running out of time and I couldn’t think of anything else. And I didn’t,” There’s a lump in his throat. He swallows around it. “I didn’t think about how it would be for you guys. How it would be for <em> you. </em> I thought, at least, that Ashe would be there but...but that’s for another time. I never wanted- I never meant to leave you alone. Especially not for so long. I know Harlock and Inien were there, so you weren’t <em> alone </em>exactly-”</p>
<p>He’s expecting deflection. Downplaying. Reassurances that it was <em> fine, </em> Gregor’s <em> fine, </em>really! Markus has counters to what he expects, ways to get through to the other man and let him know it’s okay not to be sunny-happy Gregor all the time. What he gets is not at all what he expects, and all his contingency plans go right out the window.</p>
<p>His lap is suddenly full, arms thrown around his neck, and Gregor is shaking like a leaf against him. Shaking in a way his sturdy frame should not allow. It startles Markus, and his arms wrap around Gregor’s waist almost of their own accord; like he could hold the younger man together, steady him.</p>
<p>“I was.” Gregor says into Markus’ shoulder, the words stuttered around cut-off gasps for air. “I <em> was </em> alone. You were gone and Ashe was gone and...y-you were gone. Ashe has been gone before but you were always, <em> always </em> there and you <em> weren’t. </em> ” With every word some piece of Markus’ heart shatters in his chest. He realizes - suddenly and with dawning shock - that Gregor is crying. He’s <em> never </em> seen Gregor cry, even when the Glaive of the Wave ended its valiant tenure in the fight against Kyrlos. Gregor is <em> crying, </em> tears wetting the skin of Markus’ shoulder, and it’s his fault. </p>
<p>“A-and I just kept thinking that I never got to <em> tell </em> you, and what if we couldn’t find you, and I couldn’t sleep because I would wake up every time and you still weren’t <em> there </em>.”</p>
<p>“I’m here now, bud. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Gregor, I’m so <em> sorry. </em>” Markus clutches the brunette to his chest like a parched man clutches a waterskin, white-knucked and vice-like. Gregor doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he buries his face deeper into Markus’ shoulder, squeezing him so tightly it becomes a bit hard to breathe. Markus doesn’t care. Not when he can feel Gregor’s desperate, shuddering breaths against his shoulder, can feel Gregor’s racing heart where it’s pressed flush against his chest. There is nothing he can say to ease this hurt he has caused, so instead he lets his presence speak for itself.</p>
<p>Slowly, gradually, Gregor’s vice grip relaxes by increments, Markus doing the same. He rubs large circles on Gregor’s back, trying to ease away the tension there. The tears don’t dry up, but the gasping evens out and the racing heartbeat calms a bit. They sit in silence for close to an hour, and Markus begins to think Gregor’s fallen asleep when the brunette mumbles something into his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Hm?” He hopes the quiet noise comes off as he’d meant it to. Gentle. Concerned. Attentive without being prodding. Evidently it does, because Gregor pulls away to look him in the face. Their arms fall away from each other with the movement, but Markus curls his fingers over the back of Gregor’s hand almost unconsciously. The expression on Gregor’s face is one of surprise, and Markus doesn’t understand until Gregor’s free hand comes up to gently swipe a thumb across his cheekbone. It comes away wet.</p>
<p>“You’re crying.” It’s said with such puzzled wonderment that Markus huffs a wet laugh, never mind that he hadn’t realized it himself before now.</p>
<p>“It happens sometimes,” he says, and Gregor looks for a moment like he wants to disagree, but his own cheeks are still wet with tears and so his face settles for a pout. Like the Thinking Face, it’s incredibly endearing. Markus smiles. Gregor’s eyes flicker away from his and back, and the pout is replaced with an expression Markus can’t quite read. Something between nerves and determination, maybe? He’s never seen it on Gregor’s face before, and he has no idea what it means.</p>
<p>“I love you.” The words catch him off guard, at first. Then they actually register and Markus grins.</p>
<p>“I love you too, bud.” They’ve never said it aloud before, but it’s never been something that needs saying. Just a simple fact of life, understood between them and Ashe and all the rest. (The thought of saying it to Ashe and watching her go red and splutter in embarrassment and please indignation is an amusing one.) Why else besides love would he spend five years traipsing around the world, solving everyone else’s problems? He’s not exactly an altruist.</p>
<p>“No, I mean,” Gregor looks into his lap, at Markus’ hand covering his own, “that’s what I’ve wanted to tell you. For a long time. I love you. And it’s- it’s not the same as it is with Ashe, or Dont, or Zalvetta. It’s scary, sometimes. When you get hurt, I get so <em> angry </em>; and I don’t care about doing the right thing in that moment, I just care about hurting the thing that hurt you. And I- I scare myself, a little bit.”</p>
<p>“When,” He swallows, curling into himself, and his tone goes quieter. Like he’s ashamed. Markus has never known Gregor to be ashamed of anything. “When I thought you were dead - not just gone, not just ‘not there’ - but dead, right after you went through the rift, I - I begged Harlock to open it again. I didn’t care that you had done the right thing. I didn’t care that the rift could destroy the world. I just...I couldn’t breathe without you. I couldn’t think of anything except the look in your eyes right before you disappeared. Your voice saying goodbye. And I...I would have doomed the world for a chance to hear that voice again. To keep those eyes in my life, even if my life were just the next few minutes. If I could have done it myself, I would have. I’d doom the world for you.”</p>
<p>Markus’ own thoughts, echoed back at him in Gregor’s voice. Because he would, wouldn’t he? He’d doom the whole world and do it happily if it meant that he never had to leave Gregor alone like that again. He knows this isn’t exactly the best way to think, perhaps it’s even worrying. But when he talks about Markus’ eyes, Gregor looks up. Meets them with his own. In Gregor’s face Markus can see all the shame, and guilt, and horror that he’s been carrying since Castle Crowhenge, all the reasoning laid bare for Markus to see. To accept or condemn, as if there was a choice. But Gregor’s eyes look like he thinks he’s damned already, and Markus can’t take it.</p>
<p>“Gregor,” he says, and it’s like the brunette is holding his breath, “can I kiss you, please?”</p>
<p>It takes a full three seconds for the question to sink in. The expressions that flit over Gregor’s face do so rapidly - shock, anxiety, confusion, hope - but Markus catches them all. Gregor’s lips part, move like they’re trying to form words, but all that comes out is one halting syllable. Gregor shuts his mouth. Nods once, a jerking of his head up and down. Markus searches his eyes for any sign of reservation and finds none. So slowly, gently, he places the palm of his free hand against Gregor’s neck, just under his ear. His pulse jumps under Markus’ touch, and the tiefling runs his thumb over Gregor’s jawbone. He leans in, letting his eyes slip closed.</p>
<p>He kisses Gregor the way his heart is demanding he do so: gentle, yet firm. Certain. He tries to pour everything he could never have enough words or time to say aloud into one moment, one action. That he’s sorry, that he’s here; that the gods themselves will have to rip him away from Gregor’s side to make him leave, and not before Markus fights to his last. That every day for the last five years he’s awoken with purpose he never thought he’d find, because the man he’d met five years ago through the bars of a cardboard jail cell had called him “friend” not ten minutes from meeting each other. When most of the people he met saw his horns, and his flashy air, and kept a safe distance, Gregor had taken it in stride. Had said, “I’m glad we’re friends.” Even if Gregor is afraid of himself at times, Markus could never be; because no one he has ever met, no one in the world, is as guileless, and strong, and <em> good </em>as Gregor Hartway.</p>
<p>Gregor leans into him, and Markus can <em> feel </em>the pent-up tension seeping out of the man’s body. Gregor’s lips move against his own, and his heart leaps in his chest in a way that’s as breathtaking as it is uncomfortable. The warm hand under his pulls away to run up his arm, over his shoulder, coming to rest against his jaw much in the same way as Markus’ own. The kiss lasts a few moments more before they break away, breath heavy, foreheads resting against each other. When Markus opens his eyes, all he can see is amber-gold, searching his face with wonder. He cracks a grin.</p>
<p>“Markus…” Gregor whispers his name like it’s a precious thing, like Markus himself is precious, and he fights the urge to close his eyes and hide the unguarded emotion he knows must be there. Instead, he lets Gregor see all the answering joy, and awe, and adoration that’s curling in his chest, warming him like no flame ever could. Amber-gold eyes swim, and Gregor’s brow knits as the tears spill over. Then his eyes are closing, and he leans in to kiss Markus again. Markus closes his own eyes and blocks out everything except the tender, thrilling touch of Gregor’s lips, Gregor’s hand against his jaw, Gregor’s racing pulse under his fingertips. With the dawn comes a whole host of new problems to solve, familiar old locals turned strange and alien by time. Right now, though, he’s here. Exactly where he should be.</p>
<p>The kiss breaks after a fashion, and Markus speaks against Gregor’s lips, voice unwavering and ardent, “I love you, too.”</p>
<p>Gregor’s breathless laugh is pure joy, and the most beautiful sound Markus has ever heard. </p>
<p>_____________________</p>
<p>The next morning, Gregor Hartway does not wake with the sun. Instead, he wakes with light spilling in through sheer curtains and landing in golden hair, turning it fire-bright against the pillow it spills over. Long arms are wrapped around his waist, keeping him warm, and safe. Loved. Eventually, kaleidoscope blue eyes blink open to meet his own. When Markus smiles brightly and kisses him good morning, Gregor admits to himself that he might like this better than training.</p>
<p>______________________</p>
<p>Gregor’s hair is still unbound and disheveled from sleep when they enter the dining room for breakfast, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as Harlock and Inien stare on in shock. Mercy, Markus notes, is looking back and forth between he and Gregor consideringly. When she meets his gaze, a question swirling in her warm eyes, he grins and offers a quick wink. Her face lights with cheer, pleased as punch, and Markus is hit with a wash of strong affection for their new friend. As he and Gregor sit at the otherwise fully occupied table, he fleetingly wonders how she noticed the change in their relationship so quickly, with a simple glance. A mother’s intuition, he guesses. Never mind that she may actually be younger than him.</p>
<p>“Gregor, did you <em> just </em>wake up?” Harlock asks from across the table, her voice full of the appropriate amount of disbelief. This is, after all, unprecedented and unheard of. Markus smirks proudly to himself. He always was one to challenge the known order of things. </p>
<p>Gregor, to his own credit, has always been an easy riser, and his voice is chipper and bright as ever as he answers, “Well not <em> just, </em> but recently, yeah. I wanted to get up early today and train,” Never mind that “early” for Gregor is two hours before dawn, “but Markus kept me up <em> really </em> late so I slept in on accident.”</p>
<p>It’s an innocuous enough statement and a joke besides, they hadn’t actually been awake <em> that </em>late, Markus being as tired as he was. But it’s a joke completely for Markus’ benefit, and so it sails directly over the heads of their present company and out into the morning air. Harlock just looks more perplexed. Inien’s eyes narrow in general suspicion. Gregor has never slept in a day in his life, no matter if he gets eight hours of sleep or twenty minutes. It’s Mercy’s expression, though, that makes Markus freeze in his chair. She’s smiling, yes, but it’s a tight sort of smile, and in her eye is the same edged “you better have a damn good explanation for this young man” look that gives Markus flashbacks to Wizard High School; mixed with the dangerous protectiveness of a mother bear.</p>
<p>Markus’ fight or flight instinct kicks in and words come bursting from his mouth with no prior consideration, “We were only kissing, that’s all! I swear!”</p>
<p>He could’ve heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Harlock and Inien look like their eyes are about to fall out of their heads, Gregor looks puzzled, and Mercy gives him an amused but approving look that calms his panic but <em> immediately </em>replaces it with embarrassment.</p>
<p>Then the twins chime in with a chorus of, “Ooooo~” and Inien begins laughing so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. Harlock still looks shocked, looking between Markus and Gregor. Markus offers her a tentative smile. She scowls. For a moment, Markus is worried that she’s somehow put off by the idea of he and Gregor being together. But then Inien gathers herself enough to breathe and speak through her giggles, and holds out an expectant hand towards the alchemist.</p>
<p>“You know what that means, Miss Harleaux! Pay up.”</p>
<p>Harlock grumbles and pulls a sizable coin-purse from one of the many, many pockets on her person, depositing it in Inien’s waiting hand. Inien grins in triumph. Markus’ face is <em> burning </em> , and he’s sure he’s turned the color of Gregor’s tunic. He ducks his head and huddles against the tabletop, arms hiding his face. He does <em> not </em> want to know what sort of bet Inien has obviously just won. She’s <em> still </em>laughing at his embarrassment, half-smothered giggles escaping from her direction. </p>
<p><em> The harpy probably isn’t trying very hard to hide them, </em>he thinks, but the jab lacks any real fire and is tinged with a good deal of sibling-like affection. Maybe it’s a good thing Ashe isn’t here, after all. She’d have definitely already hit him out of exasperation or second-hand embarrassment. Oh, gods. Ashe is going to hear about this, isn’t she? The very thought makes him burrow further against the table, nose squishing against the smooth wood. That is, until he feels a tug at his sleeve. When he looks up, amber-gold eyes lit with confusion catch on his own.</p>
<p>“What else would we be doing?” Gregor asks, and Markus feels his embarrassment melting away, replaced with an incredible fondness. He shakes his head, extricating himself from the tabletop, and takes Gregor’s hand. He presses a lingering kiss to the brunette’s knuckles, then rests their joined hands atop the table.</p>
<p>“Nothing, sunshine.” Gregor’s kiss, his presence, his thoughts and his time are more than enough, a miracle and a gift Markus never dreamed he’d have. Markus Velafi has got it <em> bad, </em>and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Nothing at all.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(They’re halfway through breakfast when Mercy works up the courage to venture a question that’s been nagging her the whole meal.</p>
<p>“Gregor, dear, are you expecting an attack at the breakfast table?” Her eyes flicker to where his glaive is propped against his chair. Though she doesn’t understand why Inien’s giggle fit starts up again, or Markus’ and Harlock’s long-suffering but affectionate sighs, she does understand Gregor loud and clear when he replies, mouth full of potatoes,</p>
<p>“Well, it never hurts to be prepared.” No, indeed it doesn’t. She acknowledges such wisdom with a nod and a smile, and notices Markus turn his head back to his food, a smile playing at his lips. Her eyes roam over the large table, full in a way it seldom is. Full of life, full of new friends, full of hope. The sight dampens her eyes, and Faria reaches out wordlessly to take one gauntleted hand in his, eyes soft and knowing. Mercy smiles and dabs her eyes with a napkin. A napkin which promptly catches fire. She quickly snuffs it out within a closed fist, but the rest of the table notices anyway and she laughs, a bit embarrassed.</p>
<p>“Do you cry lava?” Gregor asks, excited and guileless, even as Markus briefly hides his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with helpless laughter. </p>
<p>Yes, Mercy thinks. These ones, she’ll be keeping.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(When Gregor approaches her after breakfast and asks if she’d like to train together the next morning, she agrees enthusiastically. Quality time, after all, is essential for family bonding.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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